


The Fifth Spirit

by ElectronicFerret



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectronicFerret/pseuds/ElectronicFerret
Summary: Really, bringing a fifth spirit into the fold was easy, all things considered.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 366





	The Fifth Spirit

The Northuldra had lived with spirits for time beyond counting. True, the last few decades had been nothing like the first -- playing with the wind, sparks lighting up the sky for lost children at night, scaling the sides of the earth giants -- but the older adults and the eldest of the Northuldra remembered that time when the spirits had been kind and not vengeful. It would not take long for the children to be entranced by the spirits instead of afraid, and to learn to live with them as they once had years ago. 

Really, bringing a fifth spirit into the fold was easy, all things considered.

=================================================================

At first the events pass by unnoticed, because who would be concerned with a slightly early frost, or a shockingly cold wind in the heart of winter? The Fifth Spirit had come to them in the late of fall, trees already curling in on themselves, and then everyone had been busy; Elsa tending to the transfer of power within Arendelle and the Northuldra had their own preparations to make for the winter. The spirits were flitting about constantly, home in the Enchanted Forest with the Northuldra but occasionally venturing beyond to visit the new settlements beyond their decades-old borders within which they had trapped themselves.

Honeymaren only noticed, truth be told, because she dared to border on rudeness; it was late at night and tomorrow would be the day the Northuldra began the trek to the grounds of early spring, following the reindeer herd. She wanted to make sure Elsa was aware -- it was only her first season with the Northuldra, after all, and for all the earnest listening at the fireside and eager hands during the day, there were practicalities of forest life that Elsa had yet to grasp. An instinctive bond with the spirits was no replacement for knowing how to tan a hide or build a fire from nothing, and while the Nokk was glorious to ride, a reindeer was much more at hand -- and _much_ easier to handle.

It was late, but Elsa was known to stir at odd hours, and there was a small flicker from inside the tent that hinted at a lantern or candle. Honeymaren decided to press her luck a little, curling the flap away from the entrance gently and pressing her head inside. “Elsa?” she tried, and then nearly choked from the sudden cold snap, nose and lungs burning.

“Elsa?” Honeymaren tried for a second time, softly, and braved the tent fully, easing herself inside. Her breath came out in clouds of freezing air; it was colder inside the tent than out. The sun was out for longer stretches of time, slowly eating away at the snow and ice during the day, and the nights were clear and gentle. Elsa’s tent, by contrast, seemed achingly cold and dry, despite the lantern flickering by her cot and the furs piled there. 

A quiet, questioning sound was the only indicator Honeymaren got of Elsa’s presence; once her eyes adjusted to the half-shuttered lantern light, she could see the ghostly spirit crouched on the edge of her cot, half-curled and arms wrapped tight around herself. It gave Honeymaren pause, and something in her gut spiralled uncomfortably; there was a sheen of ice underneath Elsa’s feet, and Honeymaren had to watch her step lest she slip as she picked her way over to the cot. Elsa’s breath was a sharp, rapid counterpoint to her own, tiny clouds of too-hasty air taken in.

With the Fifth Spirit’s pale eyes uneasily flickering onto her, Honeymaren forgot what she had come in to say. She struggled for _something_ to say, instead, anything. “...aren’t you cold in here?”  
  
A flicker of recognition flitted into Elsa’s expression, after that. She glanced down at herself, seeming to withdraw a bit more into her already-crumpled frame, something like a full-body flinch. “Not really.” 

Honeymaren weighed her options out, or tried to; having forgotten what she came in to do and already pushed past the boundaries of politeness, she opted to ease herself down onto the cot, mindful of the ice at her feet. “Well, you look like you should be. Here -- “ She pulled up one of the furs behind her, hefting the heavy weight around both Elsa’s shoulders and her own. 

“I’m okay, really,” Elsa murmured, and then seemed to come back into herself more fully from -- whatever that was, slowly reaching up one arm to accept the fur across her far shoulder, pulling it in around herself. “...but thank you.” 

Honeymaren’s side burned, despite the layers of fabric between them -- from cold or from warmth, she wasn’t sure. “We’ll be moving out in the morning. Are you packed?”

“I am,” Elsa replied, with a small smile that did nothing to ease the burning on Honeymaren’s side or the uneasiness in her stomach. “Did you come in just to remind me? Thank you.”

“Of course,” Honeymaren murmured, still tongue-tied. The silence that proceeded was at least companionable now; she thought she felt the temperature warming. She wasn’t certain until she noticed that the weight against her side had solidified, and glanced down to see Elsa dozing underneath the heavy furs. 

Honeymaren moved quietly to extricate herself, easing the mortal spirit back down onto her cot and slipping away, stepping carefully around the newly-formed puddles in the base of the tent.

============================================================

The next time it happened to dramatic effect -- and Honeymaren noticed, as she did increasingly these days -- was sometime in the mid-spring, with the water rushing down from the mountains in streams and the fringed pink climbing its way out of the swamps and fields. The ground was marshy and dangerous after every rain, but spring held the promise of good bounty and good weather; Ryder would take the reindeer for constant runs, trekking up mud in trails that the Northuldra could follow easily once the sun dried everything out. 

Gale had tickled about Honeymaren’s shoulders all afternoon, sweeping up her braid and stealing her hat to leave it in the branches of a tree or deposited on a rock surrounded by dangerous mud. She was about ready to grab a reindeer and ride off to the plains outside the forest to simply _get some peace_ from the mischievous spirit when she found herself faced with the Fifth Spirit again. Mud turned hard under her feet the closer she got and soft grasses were rimed with frost. This was distinctly the wrong time of year for that -- the edges of winter were long past.

“Elsa?” Honeymaren called out, cautious and gentle. The ground crunching under her feet seemed to be warning enough; Elsa only started a little, turning at the waist, and Honeymaren could see paper clutched in her hands. “What’s that?”  
  
Elsa glanced down at the paper clutched in her hands, seeming momentarily as surprised by it as Honeymaren. “What? Oh. ...it’s from Arendelle. Anna, uh…” 

The paper was heavily creased -- folded into some shape for sending, no doubt -- and looked to have been worried over a bit already, judging from the wrinkles clearly added to it. The writing was only passingly familiar; the Northuldra had their own system of writing, and while Honeymaren had learned the ways of Arendelle, she didn’t have call to use it often. Honeymaren couldn’t grasp more than the style of handwriting while the paper was half-crumped in Elsa’s hands. “Is everything alright?”

“Just the usual court troubles and politics,” Elsa replied, with a half-effort at a smile. Her thumbs creased the edges of the letter some more as her voice turned watery. “I wish so much I could help her, but…”  
  
“...she has to figure it out on her own?” Honeymaren supplied. At Elsa’s surprised glance, she smiled in return. “What, like you’re the only one with a younger sibling? We may not all be princesses or princes, but we have ways of our own to learn. You know, Ryder broke his arm twice herding the reindeer? But he lives and is the best of us at it now.” In his very, very bizarre way, Honeymaren thinks but does _not_ say out loud.

Maybe it shows in her eyes anyways; Elsa smiles and Honeymaren tastes spring on the wind and feels the ground softening under her feet. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” 

=============================================

It happens again at the turn of spring to summer, although this time it is a small thing, and absolutely _hilarious_ after the fact, and totally one-hundred-percent Honeymaren’s fault.

There’s no build-up to it, no sneaking suspicions or sudden cold winds or ominous letters. Elsa was waiting at the edge of the forest, anticipating Gale bringing in another letter on the wind, as Anna’s correspondence was weekly like clockwork. Honeymaren felt the need to seek her out -- not for any particular reason that she could name. Work was done for the day and the Northuldra were settled for the summer.

“El--” Honeymaren began. That was as far as she got before Elsa shrieked, a burst of startled icy stalagmites jutting out from the ground and nearly knocking them both over. Honeymaren half-recovered by grabbing onto the flailing Elsa -- who, despite flailing and being off-balance, remained upright simply because her feet were trapped and she _couldn’t_ fall over if she tried.

They exchanged a brief glance and burst into embarrassed laughter. Later, rosy-cheeked, Honeymaren helped Elsa stay balanced as she wrested her feet out of the rapidly-melting ice.

===========================================

When it happens again, in the midst of a warm summer evening, Honeymaren thinks she finally, finally understands.  
  
It’s late at night, Bruni sleeping in the coals of the low fire, the camp largely dispersed for the evening. The stars are already out. Stars -- Honeymaren never tires of seeing them, and has become something of a night owl since the sky opened up to the Northuldra once more. The mist rolling back has revealed an entire world of wonder that the elders have seen but Honeymaren has only tasted the first sweet sips of. Ryder is the one constantly on the move, though, taking the herds of reindeer out to the plains and back again; Honeymaren stays with her people most of the time. 

Elsa is a cool burn against her side, shoulder-to-ankle, pressed close as they relax after the evening’s festivities and a long trip to Arendelle and back again. Elsa has said little for most of the evening, and tread lightly, but as always the spirits and the storytelling draw her into the heart of the Northuldra once more. Dinner is long-since disappeared and with the fire banked and the stars out, Honeymaren thinks she would be content to remain here forever. 

Except that she feels the first small tendrils of ice growing slippery under her feet, and Elsa’s hand is ice-cold when she reaches over to take it. It’s alright; she doesn’t mind being the first to speak, the bold one. For all that the Fifth Spirit has drawn wonder from the elders and amazement from the children, Honeymaren has a hard time seeing the mortal spirit as anything other than Elsa now.

“Elsa?” Honeymaren asks. There is no spoken response, and when she glances over, the wispy, ghostlike Elsa will not meet her eyes; she glances down at the fire, one arm held tight across her abdomen even as Honeymaren gently holds the other. 

Ice crackles again at her feet. Yes, Honeymaren thinks she understands. Her own boldness warms her blood and makes her heart race unexpectedly, but she lifts the hand she is holding in her own, gently, firmly. She presses Elsa’s ice-cold fingers to her lips, feels the jump in the other woman’s entire body; she checks her grip, keeps it loose. She will not use force, no matter how much her gut is shouting at her to _hold_.

“I promise,” Honeymaren says. “I will not -- I will do my best never to bring you harm.” And because something in the wind whispers in her ear that Elsa needs to hear it perhaps even more: “And I know you won’t harm me. I would let you know if you did. I am not _afraid_ , Elsa.”

Elsa’s choked sob is barely-audible over the fire, and swallowed quickly, but Honeymaren hears it regardless -- carried on the wind by a friendly spirit. She wonders if she has made the right choice until she feels the fingers around her hand tighten, warming. Elsa releases the arms holding herself together, tension ebbing like a flower uncurling in the sun.

The ground is soft beneath her feet.


End file.
